Not All Stories Can Be Told
by Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Fili and Kili are determined to find out who created hobbits. Bilbo is running out of ways to avoid answering. This wouldn't be a problem if the truth wasn't quite so . . . Well, problematic. Now with bonus AU chapter: The Durins live . . . and Bilbo's secret is out.
1. Not All Stories Can Be Told

Fili and Kili had been arguing about something all day. Bilbo hadn't been paying much attention to it - he'd learned it was better not to - but he noticed out of the corner of his eye when they appealed to Balin. Balin either refused to mediate or didn't know the answer, and the boys fell back to ride beside Bilbo.

"Bilbo, where do hobbits come from?" Kili asked.

Oh, dear. Surely they should be asking their uncle about this. And shouldn't they know by now anyway?

Then again, he'd heard rumors that there weren't any dwarf women and they simply sprung from stone. He wasn't sure how the whole brothers thing would work if that were true, but it was just possible they honestly didn't know. He took a deep breath, mind working frantically. "Well, you see, when two hobbits love each other very much - "

Kili choked. Fili burst out into helpless laughter.

"Not like that!" he choked out. "He meant, where did the _first_ hobbits come from?"

"Oh." Bilbo could feel his cheeks redden.

Then his stomach dropped. Oh, dear. He wished that they had been asking about . . . the other thing.

"We don't talk about that," he said firmly, and he urged his pony forward.

He just _knew_ that Fili and Kili were looking at each other. They weren't going to let this go.

Well, that was too bad. He might not be as strictly respectable as he once was, but he wasn't completely insane. Some things were meant for hobbit ears alone, and to be honest, even the hobbits might be better off forgetting.

* * *

Bilbo took a few deep breaths outside the troll cave. That could have gone a lot worse, but it could have gone a lot better too.

Nori clapped him on the back. "Fili and Kili told me what happened. Your technique wasn't bad. Just bad luck, really. You'll do much better at burgling next time."

Bilbo snorted. "Technique? There wasn't any technique to that. I'm just small and quiet, like every hobbit was made to be."

"Made by who?" Kili said from behind him.

Bilbo jumped.

"Whom," Balin corrected as he walked out of the cave. "Made by _whom._ " He looked at Bilbo expectantly.

Bilbo took advantage of Thorin's order to move out to avoid answering the question.

* * *

Fili and Kili plopped down on either side of him at the elves' feast.

"Terribly rude of the elves to serve you your own cousins," Fili said, shaking his head.

Bilbo looked down at the lettuce in front of him. "Beg pardon?"

"Well, you were both made by Yavanna, weren't you?" Kili reasoned. "So that means - "

"No," Bilbo said firmly. "Even if the first part of that supposition was true, _no_."

"So Yavanna didn't make you?" Fili asked.

Bilbo sighed. Surely there couldn't be any harm in answering this question, at least. "Yavanna made plants. Do I look like a plant to you?"

"No," Kili admitted. "So which of the Valar was it? Or was it Eru himself?"

"There's no shame in being made by one of the Valar," Fili put in. "The dwarves were made by Mahal. We won't think less of you for it."

Hah. Bilbo knew better than that. He started eating determinedly.

Kili thankfully changed the subject. "How much can hobbits eat, anyway?"

"Seven meals a day when we can get them," Bilbo said, seizing on the subject change.

Fili whistled. "I don't think even Bombur could eat that much."

"Made to be hungry, eh?" Kili asked, nodding wisely.

Bilbo forced himself to roll his eyes and leaned forward to talk to Ori, who sat across from him.

No need to tell the dwarves that they were right.

* * *

"I've got it!" Kili cheered. He was far too enthusiastic for this early in the morning, particularly considering the rain that was pounding down.

"Got what?" Bilbo asked wearily.

"Hobbits are a crossbreed, aren't they?"

Horrified fascination forced him to ask, "Between what?"

"Well, you liked the elves, and you get along with us alright - "

"See where your uncle's standing and then decide if you want to finish that sentence," Bilbo interrupted.

He might have just let Kili continue under that impression - he wasn't entirely wrong - but he didn't think the other dwarves would have taken to it well.

Surely the two boys would have to give up eventually, wouldn't they?

The ominous crack of thunder overhead didn't reassure him much.

* * *

That ring - that _ring -_

Oh, dear. He should probably tell Gandalf about this, except - Well. Gandalf was one of the Istari, wasn't he? And the wizard was taking far too much interest in Bilbo as it was.

Besides, he'd probably try to take the ring, and Bilbo couldn't allow that. A hobbit with a ring such as this wasn't ideal, but the idea of a corrupted Istari didn't bear contemplating.

No, he'd just take this back to the Shire with him. He could show the Thain when he got back.

 _If_ he got back. He still had to face a dragon, and, more ominously, two very curious young dwarves.

* * *

Erebor was very beautiful, he had to admit, and it was nice to be underground again. It was almost like a very large, very drafty smial.

"You seem to be doing well underground, Master Baggins," Fili commented. It was the lightest comment that had been made in days, and it clearly took an effort.

Bilbo fiddled with the Arkenstone in his pocket. "Well, I do have some Harfoot blood on my Baggins side," he said absently.

A flicker of the old curiosity lit up Fili's eyes. "Harfoot?" he asked.

Well, this couldn't hurt, surely. "There are three types of hobbits," he told Fili. "Harfoots, Stoors, and Fallohides. We've all pretty much blended together at this point, but everyone knows the Tooks are more Fallohide than anything, and the Baggins have a bit of Harfoot blood."

"What's the difference?"

Bilbo shrugged. "The Fallohides are taller, slimmer. The Harfoots are shorter and thicker. The Stoors are in between."

"So like elves, dwarves, and men," Fili deduced.

Bilbo cursed his distracted mind. "Vaguely," he said waving a hand. "But unlike dwarves, Harfoots can't grow beards."

Fili rubbed his own short beard thoughtfully. "And what's a dwarf without a beard?" he asked wryly.

Bilbo smiled weakly and tried very hard to look like he didn't know the answer.

* * *

Bilbo sat between two stone graves and tried not to look over at the third. He'd pay his respects to Thorin shortly. First, he had a story to tell two young princes while he was still alone down here. They deserved more than that, but this was all he could give them.

"There's a reason I never told you," he said quietly. "It's the first thing every hobbit child learns. I know you must have thought me terribly naive at first, but none of us are so stupid as to think that we'd last long if this story got out. We aren't much good in a straight out fight. We weren't made for that." He laughed bitterly. The ring felt very warm in his pocket.

"You were right, Kili. We _are_ a cross between dwarves and elves. Men, too. Only you were wrong at the same time, because by the time the Harfoots and Fallohides and Stoors intermarried, we weren't anything but hobbits anymore." He had to stop and look around nervously before he could say the next part. The instinct for secrecy ran too deep. "Everyone knows that a long time ago, Morgoth corrupted some of the elves to make the first orcs. He wasn't happy with the orcs, though. They inspire terror, but they aren't exactly very subtle, are they? He wanted something small. Something quiet. Something that was fair to look at and with a monstrous appetite. So he captured a few men, a few elves, a few dwarves . . . I'll tell you what a dwarf without a beard is: a cursed one. But," he rallied, "Morgoth made a mistake. Men aren't bound to any fate but one of their own choosing, and dwarves - Well, I hardly need to tell you how stubborn a dwarf can be. And no elf can bear to be outdone by mere mortals." He shrugged. "We wouldn't do what he wanted. We were hobbits, and we were quite determined to have a will of our own. He tried to destroy us, of course, but he'd done too good a job of making us hard to find when we didn't want to be found. We migrated until we found the Shire."

The ring felt very much like it was seething. Bilbo patted it absently. Its whispers felt odd in his mind. Half familiar, as his maker's apprentice tried to appeal to the hobbit's ingrained compliant side. Half laughable, as the rest of him pushed against it firmly.

"You can understand why I didn't tell you, I hope. I couldn't take the risk you wouldn't understand. We're not evil beings, hobbits, and we're no more under the Dark's thumb than you are. We can't help how we came to be, but it doesn't exactly encourage trust, does it?"

He sighed. "So there you are. That's where hobbits came from. Mandos only knows where we're going, though. What do you think? Undying lands like the elves? Beyond Middle Earth like men? To nothing, like those without _fëar?"_ He stood and let his hands rest on the stone beds. "Personally," he said quietly, "I'm hoping for Mahal's halls, but I'm not sure I've got enough Harfoot in me for that. I don't suppose you could put in a good word for me? Thorin, too. He's King Under the Mountain. His word's got to count for something." _Was_ King Under the Mountain, he supposed, but he wasn't quite ready to shift tenses yet.

It was a foolish thought, anyway. Perhaps the first Harfoots had ended up in Mahal's halls, but surely by now the hobbits were as deserted by the Valar as the orcs. They might not be evil, but they had been corrupted. And as for a good word - ha! There was a good reason he'd only dared tell their tombs. If he'd told them while they were still alive, there would have been no chance of him living to see the Shire again, and the only thing that could have saved the Shire from burning was Thorin's abysmal sense of direction.

Of course, Gandalf hadn't purged them from the land yet, but none of them were entirely sure how much the wizard knew.

 _Maybe they wouldn't have turned on you,_ part of him whispered. _Maybe they would have been impressed that your people wouldn't obey Morgoth or Sauron._

Bilbo assumed that this part of him was either still desperately naive or that it was the ring attempting to get him killed so that it could get itself a more malleable bearer.

He walked over to Thorin's tomb and waited beside it for a moment. He had to push back tears. It seemed like that was all he was doing lately. Tears for a leader that had fought so hard and so long for his people. Tears for three lives cut too short.

Tears for friends unlike any he'd ever known. Friends he wouldn't have risked for anything.

"I am truly sorry, Thorin," he whispered. "I never blamed you for any of it. I understood." Oh, how he'd understood. "I would have deserved it if you'd killed me, you know, but since you seemed to think you owed me a favor, I don't suppose I could ask you for the same favor I asked your nephews, could I? I do try to be good, you know. We all do. We none of us want to end up like poor Gollum." He swallowed down the thickness in his throat. "We're never quite good enough," as the three graves proved, "but we do try. So very hard." He nodded once and forced himself to walk away. The Thain would need to hear about this. All of it.

* * *

 _"So that's what you kept pestering our burglar about," Thorin said._

 _Fili and Kili shuffled guiltily._

 _Thorin sighed. In life, he likely would have been angry. He had seen too much of the damage orcs could do, that any sort of corruption could do, to believe that hobbits could overcome their origins._

 _But if he could overcome the gold sickness with all his flaws, how could he think less of Master Baggins?_

 _Besides - the other Valar might not be ready to accept hobbits into the Undying Lands or to wherever men went, but Mahal loved his creations far too much to abandon them no matter what evil befell them, and since from the start none of the other Valar would claim them, he considered them all his._

 _Mahal had always delighted in hobbit stubbornness and had long ago decided there was room for both races in his halls._

* * *

 **A/N: Credit due to Tolkien Gateway for helping me fact check.**


	2. Not All Lies Can Be Sold

**A/N: I'm supposed to working on Family of Choice and Chance and my original fiction. But this has been rattling around in my head for over a year, so I wasn't going to let it slip away when I finally cornered it.**

 **PLEASE NOTE: This is an AU of the previous chapter with the AU element being that in this one, Thorin, Kili, and Fili are all very much alive and kicking.**

* * *

When they'd first found the elvish swords in the troll cave, Bilbo had worried. They'd all glowed faintly blue, and for a moment, he'd been quite sure that Gandalf was about to turn around and denounce him as no better than an orc.

Then they'd been attacked by actual orcs, and Bilbo had breathed a sigh of relief before really focusing on the fact that _orcs were attacking_ and promptly panicking again.

The swords never stopped glowing after that, not entirely, but fortunately, everyone assumed it just meant that the orcs were never far behind.

And if Bilbo's glowed a little stronger than everyone else's, well . . . Who would know?

(Bilbo. Bilbo knew. And he couldn't help wondering whether the sword glowed because it recognized his heritage or because it knew there was something dark, deep within.)

* * *

Between that and his confession to two unconscious princes after the final battle, it would have been understandable if it was assumed that if anyone were to blame for the long held secret coming out, it would be him.

It wasn't though. He was quite sure of that.

Or. Well. Mostly sure. Fili had shifted in his sleep just as Bilbo finished the tale, and he had fled both the room and the mountain just as fast as he respectably could.

Still. It wasn't the _dwarves_ who came chasing a large party of orcs uncomfortably close to the Shire. It wasn't the _dwarves_ whose swords had glowed blue long after the orcs were dead. It wasn't the dwarves, and whatever the dwarves did or didn't know, Bilbo was quite sure of one thing:

They wouldn't have told the elves.

* * *

He wasn't there when it happened. Later, he wondered if he could have done something if he had been.

It wasn't the first time elves had encountered hobbits while the elves were armed, of course. Not the first time at all.

But the elves had gone deeper into the Shire than usual in an effort to make sure they got every last orc, and it _was_ the first time elvish weapons had been around so very many hobbits at once.

It hadn't been a minor glow. Not that time.

Perhaps it still could have been salvaged. If the Thain had been there, if Bilbo had been there, if anyone capable of keeping their head had been there.

But every fauntling knew what would happen if they were someday caught. That fear was engrained from day one.

So - something. He still wasn't sure exactly what had happened. No one wanted to be the one to take the blame for the disaster.

Maybe someone had seen the glow and started to run. Maybe someone had babbled out an entirely unconvincing explanation. Maybe someone had broken down and told the truth.

And maybe, if the leader of the expedition had been Elrond or his like, things could have been talked over. Maybe if he hadn't been the elvish equivalent of a young hothead, or hadn't hated orcs as much as he had, or whatever the elvish commander's reasoning had been, then maybe . . .

Maybe. But it hadn't turned out that way, and there was no use crying over spilled milk now.

Not that they had any milk. Or much of anything to eat, for that matter.

Because one minute, most hobbits had been going around their quiet lives.

And the next, Bilbo had understood what his friends had meant when they sang of fire.

* * *

Here's a riddle Bilbo would have liked to have posed: How can one hobbit, equipped with one mithril shirt, the One Ring of power that he's _really_ not supposed to be using, and one sword that's really more like a letter opener, be effective against a rampaging hoard of elvish calvary?

He really would rather like an answer to that.

* * *

Proposed answer: If he resists the urge to put on the One Ring, then he can't.

He can, however, attract a crowd of other hobbits to him on the basis that he looks as if he knows what he's doing.

Which means that when he realizes that some dragons can't be fought head on and runs, he can lead them on a retreat to safer ground.

All the ones that manage to avoid elvish arrows, that is.

* * *

How many hobbits escaped the purging of the Shire?

There wasn't a clean answer to that. Not for a long time.

How many managed to hide? How many followed Bilbo? How many ran in other directions? If they escaped for a time but then were lost, do they count? How long do they have to have survived before they can be said to have escaped?

Numbers were difficult. The general answer was easy:

Too few.

Unless, of course, you modified the question and asked Bilbo: How many hobbits do you have to feed?

Then the answer was - grudgingly -

Too many.

* * *

Bilbo was hungry. They were all hungry. Even foraging as only hobbits could had turned up far too little to be eating. Most of the group had already lost their pleasant plumpness. Bilbo didn't want to think of just how thin they all might get.

"What are we going to do, Mister Bilbo?" Hamfast asked in a low voice.

Bilbo looked hopelessly around the pitiful camp where hobbits drooped around tiny fires with what few possessions they'd managed to drag this far beside them. Few were talking. Most of the children were crying.

Any other attack, and they could have run to Bree, but Bree's thin walls couldn't hold back the elves. Any other attack too great for Bree and they could have run to the house of Elrond, but. Well.

Maybe Elrond wouldn't approve when he heard. Maybe they really would have been safe there.

But the dwarves and elves would become bosom friends before Bilbo would risk it.

Not Elrond's. Not Thranduil's by the same token.

They might be safe at Beorn's, but there were far more than thirteen here, even if there were still far too few. They couldn't trespass on his hospitality forever, and if he ever learned the truth . . . Bilbo shuddered.

No. But Erebor . . .

Erebor had enough room. And after the dragon's devastation, Erebor had enough work. They could easily make themselves useful turning the devastated land to something farmable again. Erebor was strong enough to stand up to just about anything.

Assuming, of course, that Thorin would let them in.

That was the big if. Thorin had said something that sounded like an apology right before the healers swarmed him, but there was a bit of a difference between a desire not to die with bad blood between them and a willingness to let a one time traitor back into your mountain once you realized you were going to live.

Of course, Thorin might be over that. Might understand Bilbo's reasoning. Might even feel grateful.

Bilbo would know if he hadn't oh so foolishly spilled everything to the king's nephews and then had to deal with the realization that at least one of them might have actually heard him. He'd gotten out of there before Thorin had woken up. He only knew the king had pulled through because he'd lurked at the edges of Laketown for days until the news was sure.

Still, Thorin could empathize with their plight, and even if he wouldn't let _Bilbo_ stay, surely he could have no objection to the others.

Surely.

Unless, of course, Fili _had_ heard Bilbo's foolish confession and had spread the tale to his uncle.

In which case, Erebor would be a death trap.

But surely Fili would just have dismissed it as a fever dream. Surely Bilbo had just been overreacting. And if the dwarves didn't already know the truth from Bilbo's own lips, then there was no one Bilbo trusted more to ignore whatever the elves might tell them about the incident.

Erebor was their best chance. Possibly their only chance.

"Mr. Bilbo?" Hamfast prompted nervously.

"Erebor," Bilbo said with a firmness he hadn't quite talked himself into feeling. "We're going to Erebor."

Assuming, of course, they could make it past the giant spiders, remnants of the orc army, elvish kingdom, and elvish pursuers along the way.

* * *

Question: How long can young fauntlings go without eating?

Question: How long can young, frail fauntlings who have not been eating nearly enough survive cold nights?

Question: If you are still possibly being pursued by elvish cavalry and you only have one shovel, do you have time to stop and dig three very small graves?

* * *

For weapons, they have:

One shovel.

One sword. (More of a letter opener, really.)

Three bounders' clubs.

Four ladles.

One meat knife.

One bread knife.

Two butter knives.

Four skillets.

And Lobelia Sackville-Baggins's umbrella.

Bilbo is growing increasingly impressed with that umbrella.

* * *

For enemies, they have:

A band of orcs. (Fled from. Five orcs killed. Three by Bilbo, one by the bounders, one by Lobelia. Ten hobbits dead.)

A band of goblins. (Fled from. Fifteen goblins killed. Five by Bilbo, six by the bounders, four by Lobelia. Eight hobbits dead.)

A band of elves. (Bilbo thinks they've escaped them now. That doesn't stop two more hobbits from succumbing to their wounds.)

A band of spiders. (Fled from. Ten spiders killed. Three by Bilbo, one by Hamfast, three by the bounders, and three by Lobelia.)

(Bilbo is reluctantly impressed by Lobelia.)

* * *

For enemies, they also have:

The increasingly cold nights.

The increasingly hard to find food.

The mountains they have to cross.

The river in Mirkwood.

They lose hobbits to those, too.

* * *

It was too much to hope that they could get through Mirkwood unnoticed. Bilbo had known that, but he'd hoped anyway.

There was one bit of grace. The patrol that found them was led by Tauriel.

Tauriel looked at the long line of bedraggled hobbits whose bones poked out and who looked at her out of hollow eyes. A mere moment later, she was looking at a bedraggled circle of hobbits, who stood fiercely around their remaining children and who held a quivering mass of improvised weapons.

"Hello, again," Bilbo said in a forcibly cheerful voice. He waved from his position at the front of the circle.

Tauriel's hand was on her sword, but she didn't draw it. "I hear strange rumors of your people of late." Her eyes searched Bilbo's face.

Bilbo shrugged wearily. "All I've heard lately is my stomach rumbling."

It was meant to be a joke. Judging by the grief on Tauriel's face as she surveyed the group, she didn't take it as one.

"I suppose you still have orders to take strangers to your king?" Bilbo said tentatively. "Only, we were planning to head onward, and we're in a bit of a rush . . . "

Tauriel didn't know what was going on. She certainly wasn't sure which rumors to believe. She _did_ know that Thranduil would almost certainly wish to see this odd group.

But his orders did specify strangers. And, "You are no stranger to these woods, Bilbo Baggins." She stepped aside. "If you have no wish to tarry in the hospitality of our halls, we will not keep you." She wished she could do more, but she hadn't nearly enough food to give to starving group before her.

Bilbo's shoulders dipped in relief. "That I am not."

The hobbits passed on.

Tauriel couldn't help noticing how many flinched back from the elves as they passed.

* * *

They were close now. So close Bilbo could almost taste it.

"Right," he said firmly, looking out over the group. "I know back home there isn't much call for formality with the mayor or the Thain, but kings are different. There's a few things you need to know for the sake of good manners."

The other hobbits nodded. Kings might be a subject foreign to them, but even half-starved and half a world away from home, they still understood good manners.

Bilbo didn't think they'd get thrown out of the throne room for forgetting to use the proper forms, but, well, they were going to be guests, and guests making a pretty large request at that. Better to have all their bases covered.

* * *

"Where to from here?" Lobelia demanded, leaning on her now dreaded umbrella.

Bilbo examined the land. "Follow the road, I suppose."

"You suppose? You _suppose?_ I thought you'd been this way before."

"Well, last time I went down the river holding onto a barrel," he snapped. "I didn't want to try that again."

"Hmph."

Bilbo refrained from telling her that at least this time there _was_ a road. When they'd been traveling over the mountains through the parts where last time he'd been fighting for his life in a goblin city and then carried by eagles, he'd been genuinely afraid of getting them as lost as Thorin in the Shire.

 _No, bad thought. Don't think of the Shire._

 _Don't think of those nasty elves that ought to burn for what they did -_

"Your turn to take the ring, Hamfast," he said loudly.

Hamfast groaned but reluctantly took it.

They hadn't had the time to decide what to do with the Ring before the Shire had been attacked. Once they were settled, they'd need to decide that.

And in the meantime, they'd have to try and keep it away from the dwarves. They would not be repeating the Arkenstone incident, thank you very much.

* * *

If they'd had money, Bilbo would have taken them through the newly rebuilt Laketown or the beginnings of the reconstruction of Dale. They could have gotten something to eat before the final plunge.

But they'd spent what little money they had on them in towns of men long ago, so Bilbo circled around the towns and pressed grimly on.

Erebor. The place he'd nearly died to save and on two separate journeys nearly died trying to get to.

It looked different than he remembered. More full of life, for one thing, with a steady stream of traffic flowing in and out. In better condition, for another; the dwarves, unsurprisingly, had been busy.

Work didn't look completely done yet, though. Well, that was understandable. Fixing up the Lonely Mountain would be a massive undertaking. No doubt making the place livable had been a higher priority than making sure all the carvings on the outer gate were in tip-top condition.

It seemed, however, that clean up had progressed well enough that the gates were now a priority. As Bilbo trudged closer, he could see scaffolding pinning the traffic in closer than it would usually be and workers crawling all around it. A few better dressed dwarves supervised the proceedings from the ground.

The other hobbits bunched closer together as they approached the massive statuary that framed the gateway. They kept their shoulders up as best they could, though, determined to make a good showing of themselves.

They drew some attention as they marched through. There might be only a few dozen left now, but that was still a few dozen more than had ever been seen by these dwarves before -

"Bilbo!"

\- or most of these dwarves, at least.

. . . And that wasn't just any dwarf.

That was Thorin.

Bilbo gulped.

The crowd quickly parted for the king as he hurried forward, Balin and Dwalin close behind.

Bilbo braced himself for shouting. Or demanding questions. Or, considering the way Thorin was still barreling forward, possibly physical violence.

Then, for the second time in their acquaintance, Thorin caught him in a bone crushing hug.

Bilbo rocked back from the force of it and, light as he'd gotten recently, probably would have fallen over if Thorin's arms weren't still wrapped around him. After a bewildered moment, he raised his own arms and awkwardly returned the hug.

"Let him go, Thorin, the rest of us want to see him too," Balin said good-naturedly.

Thorin did, although he kept his hands on Bilbo's shoulders. His initial beam of delight was short lived.

Unfortunate, that. That split second had been one of the happiest expressions Bilbo had ever seen on Thorin.

It clouded quickly, however, as Thorin's more thorough examination of Bilbo revealed, well. Everything.

The way the mithril shirt hung on him even more loosely than before. The wound on his arm that they'd had to bind with one of his sleeves. The very evident fact that he'd been wearing only one set of clothes for a very long time and that there was no pack on his back.

And, of course, the terrified group of hobbits behind him who all bobbed hasty bows.

Judging by the look in his eyes, for just a second there it wasn't the present Thorin was seeing.

Then he was back. "What happened?" he demanded, hands tightening on Bilbo's shoulders.

"It's a long story," Bilbo said wearily. "And one perhaps better told elsewhere." He swayed a bit as he spoke.

"Of course. Balin, find a place for them and make sure there's food and plenty of it." Thorin turned back to Bilbo. "When you've rested, we can talk."

Now if only he could figure out what on earth he was going to say.

* * *

A bath, a meal, and a nap late, Bilbo was out of time, and apparently his private meeting with Thorin had turned into a reunion with the entire company.

He was going to have to add bruised ribs to his injury count after this.

On the plus side, it was looking less and less likely Thorin was going to throw him out of the mountain.

When things finally quieted down, Thorin turned to Bilbo, both questions and a dark promise clear on his face.

Bilbo sighed. His chest suddenly felt heavy and tight. He'd never had to actually tell the story before.

"The Shire - " he started before choking up and starting again. "It's - burned. Gone. We were attacked, and, well. We're not warriors. You remember how I was at the start of the quest."

Dwalin let out a low growl. "Who?"

"And why come this way?" Balin asked.

"Hey!" Kili protested.

Balin waved the protest off. 'That's not what I meant and you know it. It's a long and dangerous journey to Erebor from the Shire. It couldn't have been easy."

"No," Bilbo admitted. "We lost - too many."

The dwarves knew that story all too well, he knew. They'd lived it.

"Elves wouldn't help, eh?" Gloin said bitterly. "Two faced as they come."

Kili looked like he'd have liked to protest that but didn't quite dare.

And - he could say that. He could just say that Elrond had refused to help. The dwarves would believe him without question.

But he owed them better than that. So, twisting his hands, he admitted the truth.

"We didn't dare to ask them," he said quietly. "Seeing as how they were the ones doing the attacking."

The whole room erupted into an outraged uproar. Thorin was the only one not to speak though the dark promise was clearer than ever on his face.

"They found out," Thorin finally said, his quiet voice cutting through the noise.

Bilbo winced. "Fili told you."

"And Kili." Thorin's lips twitched in what any other day might have been the beginnings of a smile. "If there's one thing my nephews are good at, it's feigning sleep."

Bilbo closed his eyes, The secret was out. After all this time and all their caution, it was finally out. "And the others . . . ?"

"I might have overheard something," Nori admitted.

"So then of course everyone knew," Dori said wryly.

"Chin up, lad," Balin said bracingly. "We none of us asked to get made. We just do our best with what we're given."

"Besides," Fili said brightly. "It means you're practically a dwarf."

"By that logic, I'm also practically an elf," Bilbo pointed out.

Fili waved this fact off as unimportant.

Balin turned matters back to practicalities. "Ered Luin's close enough. They might have gotten refugees."

"And if not are close enough to go down and take a look," Thorin agreed. "I'll send a raven today."

Bilbo slumped with relief. "You'll help, then?"

"Of course we'll help!" Kili said indignantly.

"You'll helped us get our home back," Bofur said firmly. "It's time we returned the favor."

* * *

Question: How far will dwarves go for kith and kin?

Answer: However far it takes.

* * *

 **A/N: This . . . might be getting another sequel. We'll see.**

 **So I'm sorry for making the elves the antagonists in this. I don't actually hate the elves, but I needed to have them be the problem to get the story to work.**

 **You see, back when I was reading my way through all the gen Hobbit fic I could get my hands on over at archive, I got a craving for a Bilbo-and-large-group-of-hobbits run to Erebor for help story. I only found one, and it wasn't quite what I was looking for.**

 **Then I looked at a map of Middle Earth, remembered canon, and realized why: The journey is long, hard, and dotted with other places to stop. Like Elrond's place. Or Thranduil's.**

 **So I needed a reason the hobbits wouldn't go to the elves. I came up with two:**

 **One, if a Silmaril was involved. One was thrown into the sea after all, and I can totally see some adventuring Took going, "Oh! Pretty," and taking it home. Three generations later it's in the Mathom House and the hobbits agree, yes, it's pretty, but they don't particularly care.**

 **Two, this AU. I'd been wanting to do something for this AU again, so I thought I'd pursue that idea.**


	3. Not All Legends Turn to Gold

**I don't own the Hobbit. Part eleven of my Christmas fics.**

 **Okay, so this . . . is an AU of an AU of my AU. It's AU inception.**

 **So what's changed this time, you ask? Not much. The only difference is that in the last one, the dwarves promised to help them take back the Shire and it's implied that they did. Here, I acknowledge that the travel distances and supply lines would make that extraordinarily difficult and so instead, the hobbits settle in to live at Erebor. Refugees that had been hiding other places have been smuggled in, and the hobbit population is low but sustainable.**

 **Title heavily inspired by "Centuries" by Fall Out Boy.**

* * *

"Was that a hobbit?" Gandalf had come to an abrupt stop and was staring down a side passage.

Thorin's steps stuttered, but he kept determinedly walking forward. "No."

Gandalf wasn't listening. He took off down the passage.

Thorin growled and followed.

He really, really wished that there had been a polite way to tell Gandalf that no, he couldn't look around the mountain that he had helped to recover.

As it was, all he'd been able to do was stall while a frantic message to hide had gone out and then offer to guide the meddling wizard himself.

Maybe the hobbit would manage to hide. They were good at that. Maybe -

Gandalf took a turn that led to a dead end. Thorin let out a blistering stream of Khuzdul.

And there it was. A scene from one of his nightmares. Gandalf had cornered a young hobbit who had pressed himself up against the unyielding rock.

"Peregrin Took." He said it partly for Gandalf's sake, to remind him he was facing a person, not a monster, and partly to give relief to his own exasperation. Fond exasperation, admittedly, but still. "What were you doing out here?" And where's Merry, he wanted to ask but the last thing he wanted to do was tell Gandalf there were more of them.

Pippin gulped. "I was - " He cut himself off and all too obviously changed his sentence. "In the library. We - there wasn't an alert given there, and it wasn't market day."

Bilbo. He'd been with Bilbo and probably Frodo and quite possibly Sam. Hobbit politics remained murky to Thorin, but he knew the hobbits had decided Bilbo, as the go between for the hobbits and the dwarves, was important enough to be assigned his own Bounder as a guard. Right now, that was Sam Gamgee, serving his time as a Bounder before he could start work in the gardens the hobbits had created.

"A Took." Gandalf had gone very still, but apparently he had latched onto that part of the conversation. "After all this time . . . Of course it would be a Took that proved there were still hobbits in this world after all."

"And is that going to be a problem?" Thorin's hand rested on his sword.

It was madness to fight a wizard. Futile madness.

But his last bit of futile madness had led to reclaiming Erebor, and if Gandalf meant to attack the hobbits, Thorin wouldn't have much choice.

Gandalf tore his eyes away from Pippin. Thorin was stunned to see there were tears in his eyes. "A problem? My dear Thorin, this is the best news I've had in a great many years."

* * *

Thorin decided the best thing to do would be to let him meet up with Bilbo. From there, Bilbo could decide how much to reveal.

He sent Pippin ahead so that Bilbo would have fair warning. Gandalf he would let be surprised.

Bilbo was waiting for them outside the doors of the library. He was grayer now, and his hands often trembled, though all the dwarves did their best not to notice. Unsurprisingly, Frodo stood with him, hand resting supportively on his arm. Sam was just a little in front, his official truncheon shaking a little in his hand, but his jaw set firmly.

Hobbits may not have been made to fight, but they had a long tradition of rising above their natures.

But there was no need to fight today. Gandalf was leaning hard against his staff as if he now actually needed it for support. "Bilbo Baggins. It has been a long time and many hard roads since we saw each other last."

"Indeed it has," Bilbo agreed. "And I am afraid I am the frailer for them. Shall we find a place to sit?"

When they were all settled in the library, Gandalf leaned forward. "What happened?"

Bilbo sighed and squirmed a bit uncomfortably. "What do you already know?"

Gandalf's eyes went distant. "I was on my way to the Shire already when I began to fear something was dreadfully wrong. By the time I arrived, it was too late. The only person I could find still alive was a Ranger."

"We were too deep in the Shire to see them." Bilbo's eyes had gone distant too. Thorin understood that look far too well. "But I heard tales from the few that survived the border. They said the Rangers tried to stop the battle and fought to the death when they couldn't."

Frodo squeezed his shoulder. Not too young to have been born in the Shire, Thorin knew, but perhaps too young to remember it.

Thorin remembered it. More than that, he remembered how Bilbo had spoken of it.

If Bilbo still spoke of it, he did not do so in Thorin's hearing.

"Did the Rangers tell you of the elves' betrayal?" he asked harshly.

Gandalf bowed his head. "I heard the tale," he said heavily. "I fear it has damaged the relationship between elves and Ranger irreparably. The Rangers are of the Dunedain, and when they could do no more good in the Shire, they spirited their young chieftain away from Elrond's household."

"Good," Thorin said flatly.

"It was not Lord Elrond's doing that this tragedy occurred. Those responsible have been punished, and we must all pull together now if we are to survive the coming darkness."

Bilbo coughed. "Yes, er, speaking of the coming darkness. There's something you need to see. Thorin probably ought to know too. We've kept it secret long enough."

* * *

Bilbo refused to say anything else while they walked, so Gandalf was forced to direct his conversation towards Frodo, since Sam appeared too nervous and Thorin too forbidding to encourage much conversation. Frodo spoke of what they grew on the mountain and the careful tricks with light they used to grow things deep within it. Simple things that provided Thorin no clues as to what they would be shown.

"Hang on," Sam blurted out. "This is the way to my Gaffer's!" He blushed bright red. "Begging your pardons," he added hastily.

"Quite alright, Sam," Bilbo said. "You would have left too early to know. It's Hamfast's turn today."

Sam paled. "Oh."

"Turn?" Gandalf enquired.

"Some secrets are best not held onto for too long. Ah! Here we are!" Bilbo stopped outside a round door cut into the rock and rapped on it firmly.

The door opened. "Master Bilbo! And . . . " Hamfast's eyes went wide as soon as he saw who was at the door.

Bilbo was apologetic. "I'm afraid we need to see the Ring."

* * *

Standing crowded around a hobbit's kitchen table was not the sort of setting Thorin would have expected for being shown the One Ring.

"You can throw it in the fire if you don't believe me," Bilbo said, "but if you truly know the whole story, you know what we are, Gandalf. You know we wouldn't be mistaken about this."

"How long has that been under the mountain?" Thorin demanded.

Bilbo winced. "We've been trying to destroy it since we got here," he said, which was answer enough.

But it was still here. The arkenstone all over again.

Thorin turned to Gandalf. "Tell me you know how to destroy it."

Gandalf seemed not to have heard him. "We must call a Council. Immediately."

"Here?" Thorin asked.

"Where else? The ravens - "

"I'll have them sent. To whom? The Iron Hills?"

"And the other members of my order."

"Saruman, Radagast, and . . . " Thorin racked his brains. "The ravens are going to need more than 'the blue ones.'"

Gandalf pretended he hadn't heard him. "The chief of the Dunedain - "

Thorin was also going to need a name for that one.

"Gondor - "

The Steward, presumably, or one of his sons.

"Mirkwood - "

He didn't like it. He'd kept the elves as far from the mountain as he could. But Thranduil already knew the hobbits were here, so he would allow it. They'd just have to be careful.

"And Elrond, of course."

"Absolutely not."

Gandalf looked exasperated. "This is no time for - "

"No."

"Bilbo," Gandalf appealed.

Bilbo started. "What do you expect me to do? It's not my mountain."

Gandalf threw his hands up and stalked out of the room, muttering something about going to find someone sensible.

"I wonder who he means by that?" Frodo said.

"Normally he means himself, but I suspect in this case he means Balin." Bilbo turned to Thorin. "I assume you are, in fact, going to invite Lord Elrond?"

Thorin hesitated. He'd meant what he said as he said it, but with the question of the Ring . . . "It's the moon runes all over again," he realized. "It doesn't matter if we don't like it, they might know something."

Bilbo nodded, though the tremor in his hands was worse than usual.

"Well, that'll stir things up and make no mistake," Hamfast said. "Shall I put the ring back on its chain now?"

There was a half second of temptation before Bilbo's agreement broke the silence.

"Shall I run and tell Gandalf you've changed your mind?" Frodo offered as they left.

Thorin considered this. "I'm sure there's no need to tell him _quite_ yet."

"Let him stew," Bilbo agreed. "He still owes me for not telling me that I had thirteen dwarves coming for supper."

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **This was supposed to be the last one. It may well be the last one.**

 **But now I kind of want to write that Council scene.**

 **We'll see what happens.**


	4. Not All Meetings Were Foretold

**A/N: FINALLY! THIS CRAZY THING IS WRITTEN!**

 **You can all thank MegMarch1880, because if she hadn't wanted this for her birthday, who knows when you would have gotten it.**

 **And thank you to everyone on Tumblr who helped me figure out how to handle some of the aftermath that's discussed in this fic!**

* * *

Long had it been since Elrond had left Imladris, but for this meeting he had taken the risk. He could do no less with what Mithrandir had hinted. He had left Imladris in the capable hands of Erestor and travelled here with a small force that included his sons. As dangerous as the results of this council could prove to be, it was good to travel with them. It had been too long since he had been long in their company. Their wrath against the orcs had been stoked anew by the disappearance of their foster-brother. Long they had searched for him, but hope had faded bit by bit.

Like Estel might have faded, alone and in the hands of the Enemy. Like the last of his brother's northern people had faded from view until barely a trace of them could be found -

But those were old griefs, and he could ill afford to indulge them now as the council was about to begin.

King Thorin was already there, of course, with both the princes beside him and a counsellor named Balin that Elrond remembered from their long ago stop at Imladris. Boromir of Gondor was there, and Legolas Thranduilion. Mithrandir was slumped in a chair around the great oak table. None of his fellow Istari were with him.

Elrond sat beside him. Elladan and Elrohir took up posts behind him. "Is Saruman not yet here?" he asked in a low voice.

Mirthrandir's weariness seemed only to increase. "That is a tale for when all have gathered."

Other came: Thorin Stonehelm from the Iron Hills, a representative from the Golden Wood, and -

Someone of the Dunedain. The clothes were as unmistakeable as the way of movement. The cloak's hood prevented a glimpse of the face, but Elrond leaned forward anyway. It had been so _long_ -

But the tramp of feet interrupted him. A contingent of armed dwarves marched into the room and stopped by the chairs closest to the door.

Then the guards stepped back to reveal another guard, this one beardless, shoeless, and wielding only a club.

A hobbit.

The hobbit reluctantly stepped aside to let the four hobbits behind him take their seats. Three were young and unfamiliar but the oldest he knew.

"Bilbo Baggins," he said into the silence. "It is _very_ good to see you well."

"Is it?" Bilbo asked. His tone was sharp, but his hands were shaping. "I had not expected to hear you say so."

Boromir looked between the two in puzzlement. All the others present had the advantage of at least having _heard_ of hobbits. Elrond very much doubted that Boromir even had that.

Thorin stood. "Allow me to introduce Bilbo Baggins, his nephew Frodo, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took, the future Thain. All are hobbits, formerly of the Shire and currently of Erebor. All who have quarrel with them have quarrel with the entire mountain." He leveled a dark look at Elrond.

"And with all those who would rally to it," Thorin's namesake put in.

Elrond could hardly tear his eyes away from the hobbits. "My people have no quarrel with them, and I would give much to see righted their just quarrel with us," he said quietly. "Long have the Wise known or guessed your origins, Master Baggins, but we held it close for fear of others' rash action. I fear, however, that this turned against us, for perhaps less secrecy could have prevented great tragedy. As it was, the rash action we strove to prevent did great evil not only to your people, but to the Dunedain as well."

"Fair words," Thorin growled. "But what of action?"

Elrond inclined his head. "Long have we searched that some restitution might be paid, but the Dunedain were too skilled. Even in Bree we found no trace. Now that this obstacle has been overcome, I would be overjoyed to discuss the matter with both groups." He was already overjoyed just to discover that his people had not wrought a complete ruin of both peoples.

Mithrandir at last spoke up. "A worthy topic indeed, but not, I fear, the one we gathered to discuss."

"Then what is?" Stonehelm asked.

The history of the Ring, the treachery of Saruman, and the necessary action poured forth. Elrond had scarcely believed that anything could surprise him more than what had already been said. He was unhappy to be proven wrong by these accounts.

With the Ring's fate decided, its discoverer was the first to speak. "I suppose I must be the one to take it then," Bilbo sighed. "Since I was the one to start this whole mess."

"You've had your adventure, uncle," Frodo said, trying to hide his overwhelming concern for the elderly hobbit. He swallowed hard. "I will do it."

"Then I'm coming with you," Meriadoc said firmly. "You'll need someone to trade off with."

"And me," Peregrin said.

The other hobbits immediately roared in protest. "You're too young!" Meriadoc cried over the uproar.

"I'm coming," he insisted. "I do better with it than half the others, and you know it."

"I'm coming too," the guard said suddenly. "If Mr. Frodo's going, I shouldn't feel right staying behind."

The hobbits then seemed to regard the matter as settled.

"I shall guide you for as long as I may," Mithrandir said.

"We would come too if you will permit it," Elladan said from behind his father's chair, and Elrond had to swallow the sudden rise of crushing fear. He could not fault his sons for offering, and yet . . .

Balin spoke up. "We have no quarrel with an elvish representative, but perhaps for the sake of cohesion, someone else . . . ?"

The Galadhrim representative looked alarmed which was a much more sensible expression than Legolas's regret.

"Alas that I could!" he cried. "But my father sent me here to warn of the horrors growing in Mirkwood. Every warrior will be needed and indeed, he sent me hoping that more could be find."

"Bold of him," one of the dwarves muttered.

"Peace," Thorin said, holding up his hand. " _We_ will honor our alliance. Gimli's company could, I believe, be spared, and I would trust them with the task."

The hobbits had been conferring with a series of hasty gestures and complicated facial expressions. Frodo spoke up.

"Did you ride on the Shire?"

"We did not," Elladan said. "Nor would we have permitted it had we known."

"Then you might as well come," Frodo said. "It seems hardly fair to blame you."

The hobbits did not seem to consider this nearly as much of a remarkable statement as the rest of the table.

Prince Kili broke the silence. "I'm coming too."

"Not alone you're not," Prince Fili instantly said, but his uncle stopped him.

"I cannot spare both of you. Kill, are you sure?"

"Absolutely," he said cheerily.

"I shall come too, at least for a ways," Boromir said. "Though I will need to turn aside to Gondor."

"And I shall accompany you there if you permit it," the Ranger said.

Elrond did not need the introduction that came next.

It was Estel.

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir cornered Aragorn at the first opportunity.

"Estel," Elrohir greeted him. "You're still alive."

Old memories stirred at the name. "I have not gone by that name for many years."

"Appropriate," Elladan said, "seeing as we had lost hope for approximately the same number of years. We thought you lost."

"I was retrieved by my kin," he protested.

"By kin who were not supposed to know you were there, who took you without warning, and who promptly vanished. We thought them subverted by the Enemy," Elrohir said.

"We searched for you," Elladan said quietly. "Through all the north and as deeply south as we dared push, hoping for some sign."

"It broke Ada's heart."

"That was not all that was broken," Aragorn pointed out, but his heart was not in it. Much had been clarified by the council, and he no longer blamed his foster-family as he once had.

"He grieved that too," Elladan said somberly. "We all did, and though there is little enough that can be made right, still, we try."

Aragorn let out a long breath. "I will speak to Master Elrond," he promised. It had been hard to think so ill of him. He was glad to let it go.

"Excellent," Elrohir said.

Elladan slung an arm around his shoulders. "And you'll have the whole quest to tell us what you've been up to, little brother."

* * *

 **My original plan was to type out a long defense of why I chose the Fellowship that I did for this, but it is late, and I am tired. If you have questions or complaints, mention them in a comment, and I'll address them then. I might come back and fill it all in here later when my thoughts are less concerned with sleep.**

 **To anyone interested in seeing how this new Fellowship and starting point change events: Good news! MegMarch1880 was too, so I wrote a three part answer to that (two parts Fellowship, one part Legolas and Gimli interlude) that just needs to be transferred from a notebook to my laptop. So no six month waiting period this time!**


	5. Not All Heroes Were of Old (Part I)

They were two days into their journey when Boromir finally found an acceptable moment to ask. "If I am not too bold, might I ask what quarrel lies between the elves and hobbits?" The council had never fully explained, but the obvious tension among the Fellowship could not be long ignored.

Kili's eyes gleamed. "It has to do with the origins of hobbits," he explained.

"Kili - " Frodo said warningly.

Kili waved him off. "Bilbo explained it all to me on the way to Erebor," he said cheerily. "You see, hobbits are related to lettuce."

The whole Fellowship paused and turned to stare at Kili.

"Lettuce," Boromir said flatly.

"A green leafy plan," Kili said helpfully. "Do they not have it in Gondor? The elves are rather fond of it. Anyway, so when the elves found out, they tried to eat the hobbits, and the hobbits naturally neglected, and the Rangers had to step in to protect the gardens."

"The gardens being where they lived, I suppose."

"No, it's where we planted the baby hobbits so they could grow," Pippin piped up.

Boromir was not unaware he was being made sport of. He let the matter drop.

But he felt some hope of getting an actual answer when one of the elves - Elrohir, maybe? - dropped back to walk beside him and said in a low voice. "Naturally, that's all nonsense."

"Of course," Boromir agreed.

"As anyone who has seen a hobbit knows, they are obviously related to potatoes."

* * *

He had hoped Gandalf might be a little more enlightening.

Gandalf puffed on his pipe thoughtfully. "It does, I believe, have its roots in hobbit origins," he said. "More than that is their own business to share."

"Yes, and you really can't blame Kili for not sharing it," Merry said earnestly from behind him. Boromir jumped. "He's sensitive about it because of Tauriel."

Boromir was suspicious, but he'd go along for a bit longer. "Who?"

"The elf he's been courting for the last few decades," Frodo explained. Boromir jumped again. Hobbits were ridiculously quiet. "They can't get permission to wed."

"But if he did get permission, any children they had would be hobbits," Merry said. "Dwarven height, elvish beardlessness - "

"Not all elves are beardless," one of the twins called from across the camp.

"But most are," Kili said. "Even elven women. Not that they can't be beautiful without them," he added hastily.

"Shouldn't that be _especially_ their women?" Boromir said.

Kili grinned at him. "Obviously you haven't met many dwarf women."

* * *

"Shall we have a tale around the fire?" Aragorn suggested a few nights later.

"You should tell one of Mr. Bilbo's tales, Master Frodo," Sam suggested.

An unaccustomed light of mischief entered Frodo's eyes. "What about the one about Mandos, then?"

"The Vala of the dead?" Elladan said, leaning forward. "I would hear this tale."

"Long ago in the First Age, Mandos grew envious of Aule and Yavanna, who had been granted peoples of their own," Frodo began solemnly. "So he shaped forms from clay until they fit his exacting standards, but he could not bring them to life. So he took the souls of the unknown from his Halls, those that would not be missed, and wiped their minds and placed them in their new vessels to go forth and capture more souls for him." His voice had gone ever lower as he spoke, and suddenly the shadows seemed very close.

Then Frodo grinned. "Unfortunately, his people became very distracted by food and have been a terrible disappointment when it comes to collecting elvish souls for Mandos."

The others burst out laughing. Boromir threw his hands up in the air.

"Enough!" he cried. "I repent of having asked."

"But I had some good ones," Pippin said in disappointment.

"Share them with me," Kili said cheerfully. "Some of the Mirkwood elves have been poking about for years, and I'm starting to run out of ideas."

* * *

They had opted to try and cross the Brown Lands as it was the most direct path to Mordor. That meant that they had now come to flat, sparse land. Any enemies should be painfully obvious.

But apparently they had missed something, because Frodo's sword, which had come partly out of its sheath when he had fallen into the dry riverbed before them, was glowing a faint warning blue.

"Orcs!" he called, turning immediately to scan the dead lands around them for threats.

There was nothing.

The others had looked too, but when no threats were forthcoming, they looked to the hobbits, who had huddled protectively around Frodo while he scrambled to his feet. Kili had put himself in front of them, and Aragorn had done the same. The elves had stepped back, hands carefully away from their weapons.

Gandalf just leaned wearily on his staff. "I do not think the matter can be concealed any longer."

"What matter?" Boromir demanded, eyes darting between them.

"That we're soulless abominations," Pippin said with an impressive level of forced cheer.

"I'm pretty sure Lobelia only meant _you_ , Pip, not the whole lot of us together, and that was only after she learned you'd stolen so many of her mushrooms." Merry swallowed when he saw Boromir's incredulous look. "Er, Frodo, why don't you explain this bit?"

Frodo did.

Boromir laughed incredulously, sure that this must just be another tall tale.

No one else was laughing.

He stopped. "We're trusting the One Ring of Power to servants of the Dark Vala?" he demanded.

Kili's eyes flashed, but it was Sam who actually spoke.

"Now wait just a minute, Mr. Boromir, sir. We don't have a pretty history, that I'll admit, but we never bowed to no Dark Lord - No, not once. And even if someone way back in the family tree _had_ , I don't see as how it should reflect on us, or why you'd have the right to condemn us if it did. Begging your pardon, sir, but Mr. Bilbo did tell me a thing or two about Numenor and the Shadow there."

"Well put, Sam," Aragorn said. "We none of us can claim a perfect history for our peoples."

"There is a difference between an ancient mistake and being created for the sole purpose of evil!"

"Come now," Elladan said. "You've travelled with them for weeks now. Do you truly believed them to be doomed to darkness?"

"The enemy has sent fair servants before. The enemy has presented _himself_ as a fair servant before."

"He did what?" Merry said. "I don't remember hearing about that."

"He disguised himself and deceived even the elves. Thus the rings were made."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that with Sam at least," Merry said. "He can't lie to save his life."

"Or a very fine set of mushrooms," Pippin said with old bitterness.

"The enemy's power lingers, but they are under no one's control but their own," Gandalf said firmly, and Boromir did not quite dare to contradict him.

* * *

The tension as they made camp that night was palpable. Elrohir tried to lighten it with a more innocuous topic. "Perhaps you can clarify a matter that has long puzzled us, Estel. The Rangers did not totally vanish from our view. There was one incident in particular when one rescued Arwen from some trouble only to get injured and need aid himself . . . "

"Yes, and then he vanished before he was quite well. She worried about him considerably."

"He was fine," Aragorn said stiffly.

"Might I inquire as to his name?" Elrohir pushed.

Aragorn hesitated. "Thorongil."

"That's odd," Elladan said thoughtfully. "I could have sworn Gandalf mentioned that name as one of your aliases in a conversation not a week ago."

"You talked to Arwen and not to us?" Elrohir demanded.

" _You_ didn't need assistance."

"Obviously you didn't see us at the very edge of Mordor, looking for your tortured corpse . . . And she never said anything!"

"She never met me as a child," Aragorn pointed out. "I doubt she recognized me."

"No, but we can still tease her about her poor mysterious Ranger," Elladan said.

"Would you like to hear what she said about you?" Elrohir asked innocently.

"Is Aragorn blushing?" Pippin asked in a delighted whisper to Merry.

Merry grinned. "I do believe he is."

* * *

The mirth faded quickly. The dry, dusty plains gave way to a nightmare maze of stone canyons that left them vulnerable to the brutal sun.

And to watchful eyes.

When the terror inducing cries of the Nazgul came, there was nowhere to hide.

The attack came at midnight when a heavy chill had replaced the baking heat. The chill air brought no relief, only a cold that drained strength and made carrying the metal ring nigh unbearable for whichever hobbit held it.

The fell cries of the Nazgul and their mounts didn't help.

They'd lit no fire in the hopes of passing unspotted, but it was too late for that now. Kili went to start a fire, but there was no time for even dwarvish lighting. Gandalf shouted a word of command and set the little wood they had ablaze. His own staff lit up like a beacon.

On the first pass, it saved them. One the second, it made him a target.

"Go!" he shouted, and the Fellowship fled into the maze of shadows and stone.

But the Nazgul were not alone. Orcs had crept closer unnoticed, and soon nine of the ten were fighting their way through the press.

Gandalf was a distant light, ever more ringed with shadow.

* * *

In the dark, the Fellowship fractured, the whispers of the Ring helping none. Merry and Pippin found themselves alone in a narrow place, breathing hard and fighting against the clinging despair.

Hobbits had practice at that.

A large shape stumbled through the narrow opening. Pippin raised his small sword, but Merry stopped him.

"Boromir!" he called, relief clear. "Where are the others?"

Boromir looked up, and the expression on his face had Merry sliding in front of Pippin. They were alone, he realized, and if Boromir took out two possible servants of the enemy, who was to know?

Boromir lunged. Merry cringed back, still shielding Pippin -

And the sword bit into the goblin crawling down the rock behind them.

One of them, at least. "There's dozens of them!" Pippin cried, and those were the last words any of them had breath for for a long while.

* * *

Elladan threw himself between a Nazgul and the hobbit frozen in its sights. "Go!" he shouted to Frodo as he used a burning branch to drive it back. The wood was almost gone; they would be lost when it was consumed. "Fly!"

The hobbits were small and hard to find. If he could but hold the wraith's attention, perhaps they had a prayer.

* * *

Aragorn shoved Elrohir out of the way of the orc blade and counted it little when it scraped his own arm. His foster brother's keen ears nonetheless caught his sharp exhalation, even in the middle of battle, and whirled furiously on the offending attacker.

 _Let dawn come soon,_ Aragorn prayed. _For the sake of all Middle Earth, hurry your flight, bright Arien, please._

* * *

Kili had lost the hobbits. He was supposed to protect them, and he had lost them.

He chased half heard cries through the canyons, killing all in his path as the sky greyed.

Then at last he stumbled on a dying Boromir. The hobbits were nowhere to be seen.

* * *

When dawn came, the enemy fled - or, at least, those that could. Not all the Nazgul would ride again, thanks to Gandalf.

But no more would the Grey Pilgrim wander, thanks to them.

Boromir was also lost, and Kili's grim report of his last words said that at least some of the hobbits had been taken by orcs.

"It could be all of them," he despaired. "Can you tell . . . ?"

"Not on stone," Aragorn said grimly, and the elves offered no better. "Nor am I sure which held the Ring. They held that secret close as they passed it."

"Then if our search here finds nothing, we must pursue," Elladan said.

"If they got lost here, we might never find them," Aragorn said grimly, but they had no choice.

They did what little they could for the dead and pursued.

* * *

Sam at last said what he was sure they were both thinking. "I don't think anyone else is coming, Mr. Frodo." Then, lest Mr. Frodo think it was just the Ring talking, he said, "Not meaning they're dead, but mayhap they've gotten lost aways."

The battled had taken them far. Frodo had led them always toward Mordor, since the others would have to come the same direction for the sake of the quest, but no one had come, and now he was not at all sure he could the way back.

If they were alone . . . He swallowed his grief and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Together, then."

They walked on.


	6. Not All Heroes (Interlude)

Gimli could still hardly believe that he'd been volunteered to go help the elves. His place was defending the mountain, not stomping under Mirkwood's twisted trees to help the faithless elves.

But as his king had commanded, so it would be. He would just have to cherish standing strong in the mountain while he still could.

Although this latest development was making him even more reluctant to leave. A messenger from Mordor at the gates was nothing to sneeze at.

To shoot at, possibly, diplomatic immunity or no diplomatic immunity, but not to sneeze at. From the look on Thorin's face, the king agreed with him.

" . . . all this my master will give you if you but give word of what has become of the hobbits."

Gimli was very glad that Bilbo, who was standing on the wall, was hidden back in the shadows of the door. Nonetheless, he slowly shuffled in front of him just to be safe. The guards under his command did the same.

"Hobbits?" Thorin said in a tone of perfect confusion, for all the world as if he did not have the vast majority of the world's population of them living in his mountain.

"The Great Eye knows of your past dealings with one among them," the messenger hissed.

"Ah, _hobbits,"_ Thorin said as if comprehension had only just dawned. Behind Gimli, Bilbo muffled a snicker.

"Help the Great Eye, and you will be rewarded."

Thorin leaned out over the top of the wall, so he could look the messenger dead in the eye. "I would rather kiss an elf."

Then Thorin turned and walked away, ignoring the threats and warnings shouted after him.

"Well, that was reassuring, Bilbo said as he drew near. "Certainly more reassuring than it would have been coming from Kili, at least."

"My nephews have not been kissing any elves," Thorin growled, though there was more good humor there than there had once been.

"Fili hasn't been, certainly. I rather think his intended might object."

For his part as an old friend of both the princes, who had been called upon to cover for the younger one more than once, Gimli was rather sure that Kili had indeed been kissing one elf in particular for reasons that were beyond Gimli's understanding. Talking to them was bad enough.

Still, far be it from him to betray his prince's secrets, however mystifying they might be.

* * *

With threats from Mordor hanging over the mountain, Gimli was even more reluctant to leave, but go he must. Legolas travelled with the dwarvish company to guide them through the forest.

Considering that they were there to do the elves a favor, Gimli thought that Legolas's comment about them otherwise "drawing every spider in the wood with their stomping footfalls" was in poor taste.

Certainly poor enough that it justified his response.

* * *

Gimli had travelled this road before, both on his first journey to Erebor and on expeditions since. He was not unaccustomed to the gloom, however much it might make him long for the honest dark of the mountain.

This surpassed that. The dim air had grown close and oppressive, and looking up at the thick webbing arching above them, Gimli was sure he knew why.

While the rest of the company stopped to eat, he pulled Legolas aside. "This is what you spoke of?" he asked, setting the quarrels of their journey so far aside.

Legolas's expression was tight and unhappy. "It has worsened in my absence. I did not expect to see signs so soon."

"That's encouraging." Gimli sighed. "Well, nothing forward but to go onward. The others know to be wary, but a reminder won't hurt." The lads had kept a watchful eye out while eating, even old Rundor who only had one to spare, but dwarves were used to threats that came charging head on or came from beneath. No harm in reminding them that here it would creep overhead.

Legolas inclined his head. "The spiders are stealthy," he warned. "Even my own people sometimes fail to sense them."

"Meaning we haven't got a hope, is that it?" Gimli said sourly. "Yet you wanted dwarvish help, and help you shall get, if we have to burn the whole forest down to cleanse it." He stomped over to the others.

They would not, of course, burn down the whole forest. He would not stoop to such folly for spite.

Still, he'd treasure the look on the elf's face at the suggestion all the same.

* * *

Gimli was sure he heard skittering as night fell, but if aught lurked in the shadows, the fire kept it at bay. The herbs the elf had thrown into it had kept away the moths, although if the scent had been any stronger, it would have also driven away the dwarves. Gimli refused to believe Legolas was as unaffected as he appeared.

* * *

The shadows only grew deeper as they travelled. The skittering began to be heard even in the day.

Gimli was - and he couldn't actually believe he was thinking this - eager to reach Thranduil's halls.

So naturally, Legolas had to stop and examine something until Gimli's patience ran out.

"What?" he demanded. The other dwarves were just as impatient behind him.

"Something was dragged off the path," Legolas said. "Two somethings." He looked up. "Scouts should have challenged us here."

And yet none had.

It was plain as day what the elf intended, and if he got killed doing it, the blame would fall to the dwarves.

And no one deserved to be eaten by spiders.

Right, then.

 _"_ Hundin, you're in charge. Keep heading for Thranduil. _Don't leave the path."_

Hundin nodded sharply, but he looked confused. "Where will you be?"

"Leaving the path," he said grimly.

Legolas looked startled.

"Well, are we or aren't we, laddie?"

Legolas looked rather offended, but he nodded. "I would not turn down assistance."

That was settled then.

It suddenly occurred to Gimli that one of the scouts might be Tauriel. He was abruptly hit with an additional need for haste.

Whatever his own feelings on the matter, he would _not_ be explaining that to Kili.


	7. Not All Heroes Were of Old (Part II)

Stone eventually gave way to earth once more, at which point Kili couldn't fail to notice the worried looks the more experienced trackers were shooting each other.

"What's wrong?" he asked, bracing for the worst.

"If I have read the signs aright, they carry only two hobbits with them," Aragorn said heavily.

"Then the others are still lost back in the canyons," Kili said.

"Or gone to Mandos in truth," Elladan said grimly. "Either way, they are beyond our reaching. We do not have the supplies to turn back now."

The aftermath of a skirmish was hardly what they'd expected to find, but anything that thinned the ranks of the orcs was welcome.

What was more surprising was the turn the trail then took. Not toward Mordor, but towards Rohan.

"Saruman," Elrohir concluded. He tossed an orc helmet marked with a white hand down in disgust. "It seems we'll have a chance to express our displeasure with him personally after all."

"And all must not be well in that unholy alliance," Elladan said with grim satisfaction.

"Yet I would no more let Saruman have the Ring than I would Sauron, and he will be little kinder to his guests. And added to these concerns, the Ring may now be headed the wrong way, costing time we do not have," Aragorn said.

Kili knelt and picked up a small buckle of dwarvish make. "Merry wore this," he said. His hand curled around it until the metal bit into his palm. "The others could have the Ring and be on their way there now."

"They could," Aragorn said.

None of them had much hope.

* * *

They reached the river that guarded the border of Rohan to find the aftermath of a battle, this time between the Rohirrim and orcs instead of a result of orcish squabbling.

The path made by four bare feet ran deep into the woods.

* * *

"I am Quickbeam, for I am ever a bit too . . . hasty."

Hasty was not really the word Pippin would use, but he thought it probably better not to contradict such a very large talking tree.

"And who and what might you be? You are not orcs, I hope. I would . . . hate . . . to have been hasty again."

Pippin was suddenly very glad that he and Merry had no elvish weapons with them, a sentiment he would not at all have expected a few hours ago. "Not orcs!" he said. "Hobbits! Just hobbits!"

 _Now please don't ask what hobbits are._

* * *

As relieved as he was to see Gandalf again, Aragorn felt he had to contradict him. "I am relieved to hear Merry and Pippin are safe, but we cannot leave the Ring's fate unknown."

"They do not have it," Gandalf said. "The Ring's fate lies with Sam and Frodo now."

"They're alive then?" Kili demanded.

Gandalf hesitated. "We must trust that they are."

Elrohir sighed. "As encouraging as ever, Mithrandir."

* * *

Their journey went on, first to Edoras and the on the long, dangerous journey to Helm's Deep.

The lethally dangerous road.

Elrohir slammed his blade through the orc's throat. Elladan was already peering over the edge of the cliff.

"Any sign?" Kili asked.

"None. The river below has washed away any trace."

Elrohir's shoulders hunched. "We just got him back." The elf's voice was heavy with grief.

Elladan was still examining the scene, judging the river's depth and the scalability of the cliff. The results made him straighten.

"We haven't lost him yet," he said firmly. "Stay here and help the people to their stronghold. I'll return with Estel as soon as I may."

Then, with nothing more than the pack on his back, Elladan swung himself over the side of the cliff and began to climb down.

Kili gaped at him for a moment before turning to Elrohir. "How much hope is there?"

A flash of bleak humor went through the elf's eyes. "About six feet."

"Yes, because puns are exactly what we need right now," he grumbled. "I do know some Sindarin, thank you."

If they joked, then the situation wasn't that serious. If it wasn't serious, Aragorn would live.

* * *

The horse found him first. Elladan found the horse, and blessed whoever had failed to restrain him.

Aragorn was cold and still, but there was breath in him yet. Elladan took off his own cloak and wrapped it around him.

"Come on, little brother. Don't leave me yet."

* * *

Their triumphant return to the city did not go unmarked. "You made it!" Kili cheered.

"We did," Aragorn said. "And in enough time to bring warning despite Elladan's mothering." He clapped a hand to Kili's shoulder. "I'm glad to see you made it as well."

Elrohir walked forward, exchanging nods with his brother before locking eyes with Aragorn.

"Never again," he said.

Aragorn inclined his head. "I will do my best."

"At least it wasn't for decades this time," Kili said cheerily.

"You have a point," Elrohir admitted. "But it was still too long."

* * *

They survived Helm's Deep and marched on to Isengard where at last they saw Merry and Pippin again. The hobbits flew down their mountain of loot to greet them. They flung themselves first at Kili, then at Aragorn, and then, after a moment's pause, greeted the twins thus too. Elladan and Elrohir were delighted.

"But where are Frodo and Sam?" Pippin asked. Merry flinched in clear expectation of an unfavorable answer.

"Mordor," Gandalf said as he rode up to them. "Or so we must hope."

* * *

Camping outside the Paths of the Dead was not a comfortable proposition. Nor were the looks Aragorn kept shooting the mountain.

Elladan caught him examining his reforged sword in the moonlight.

"Ada brought it with us at what seemed a whim at the time," Elladan said quietly. "Now it seems clear it was foresight. He always hoped he'd be able to give it to you."

Aragorn turned the blade over in his hands. "When he gave it to me, he advised me to take the Paths of the Dead if the chance came."

"Ah. Well, I suppose you'll feel right at home there, twice dead as you've been. Elrohir and I will just have to do our best."

Aragorn looked up sharply.

"We're coming with you, of course," Elrohir said as he stepped from the shadows. "Kili?"

Kili shook his head. "Someone has to stay here and keep Merry out of trouble."

* * *

"Out of trouble," Aragorn repeated wryly in the Houses of Healing.

Kili shrugged, to all appearances unbothered by the blood trickling down his face. "I kept the Easterlings off him while he and Eowyn killed the Witch King."

"No activity that involves the Witch King counts as 'out of trouble,'" Elladan put in.

"Unless the activity is avoiding. Which is now rather unnecessary thanks to your combined efforts, so well done," Elrohir said.

Elladan shot a flat look at his brother.

* * *

And then there was nothing more they could do but charge and hope that there were still hobbits living to need the distraction.

Deep in Mount Doom, there were.

* * *

Aragorn's coronation was a lively affair enjoyed by all. That number included Elrond and a number of elves from Imladris, there to help with the healing and to escort the twins when they finally headed for home.

Arwen was among them.

"They've been dancing together a lot this evening," Elladan said a bit uneasily.

Elrohir's brow furrowed. "They _did_ only meet the once . . . right?"

* * *

Kili and the hobbits returned to the mountain and to a feast celebrating both their victory and the mountain's.

Bilbo was overjoyed to see Frodo again even if his eyes were more haunted than before. Thorin was equally happy to see his own nephew.

"I've letters from all sorts of important people, but they can wait," Kili said. "What's the news from here?"

He was bombarded with stories from the battle before -

"And Gimli over here made friends with an elf, so you're not _quite_ so weird anymore," Fili said with a grin.

"Aye, I lead a company to victory in Mirkwood, spend a week in the woods with naught but Legolas to help fight the tide of beasts and things best left nameless, rescue a full dozen elves, and the king of Mirkwood himself, and _that's_ the bit you focus on!" Gimli grumbled. "So I made friends with an elf. What of it?"

"They fight like they've been protecting each others' back for decades," Fili informed him. "It's creepy."

"Also," Thorin said wryly, "King Thranduil has withdrawn his objection to you marrying one of his people. As I have long withdrawn my own, that leaves only the lady to be convinced. Congratulations."

 _"_ _You could have led with that!"_

* * *

Late in the night, Bilbo and Thorin were settled into the armchairs around the fire in Bilbo's rooms. Bilbo sat close to warm him old bones.

"Frodo's not well, poor lad," he sighed. "It was a lot to ask of one little hobbit."

"Hobbits are stronger than they look," Thorin said firmly. "He'll recover."

"I do hope so." Bilbo puffed his pipe thoughtfully. "And if he doesn't, there's always the offer."

Thorin frowned. "The offer?"

"Gandalf sent word," Bilbo explained. "He'll be sailing in a few years, apparently, once things settle down. He's offered . . . Well, he's offered to take any ringbearers who wish to with him."

"Do you wish to?" Thorin asked carefully.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But it is nice, very nice indeed, to be asked. To be permitted to sail West! Ha! We are truly free of him now. It is nice to know that we are not as hopelessly forgotten as we thought. And who knows? If Tauriel catches the sea longing, a dwarf might sail as well. Gandalf hinted that it could be done."

"Not forgotten after all," Thorin said softly. "Aye. There's worth in that."


End file.
